by Sally Rigby
‘Walker. I know you like to do things your way, but you’re not an island. We need to speak to the Regional Force and prepare them for the possibility Lenchester is the next area. You can leave that to me. I’ll let you know the results of my discussion.’
Witney’s arms were rigid by her side. She hated him interfering. She was well aware they would need to speak to the RF and find out what they had. But this was the beginning of the enquiry, and it was her case. She wanted to have the facts straight before involving other forces. They’d come in and want to take over. She wasn’t going to allow that.
‘But, sir …’
‘No buts, Walker. We’re doing it my way.’
‘What about the press conference?’ she asked, struggling to remain calm.
‘We can go ahead with that. I’ll arrange it for later on today.’
‘Thank you, sir. Then we can start gathering witnesses. If our investigation leads us to conclude this is the work of the Carriage Killer, we’re on a tight timeline. I’ll get in touch with the forces where the other murders took place and ask them to send over their files, just in case. Then we can compare notes and work out when to expect the next murders.’
‘Keep me informed of anything you find out, and I’ll email you the time of the press conference once it’s organised. This is to be kept as our investigation. I don’t want the BTP involved.’
‘Yes, sir. They’ve already handed over the reins, given the severity of the case.’
She left his office, managing to hold it together until far enough away from him not to hear.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ she said out loud, though there was no one close by. ‘What is it with the man that he winds me up so much? He needs to stick to his paper pushing and leave the rest of us to do what we do best.’
Chapter Six
Monday, 10 June
George walked into the morgue and headed to the office, where she saw Claire sitting at her desk, staring at the computer screen.
‘Morning, Claire. How are you?’
‘What the fuck?’ Claire said, slamming her hand against her chest. ‘Don’t creep up on me like that. You nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve arranged to meet Whitney to speak to you about the murder victim.’
‘Well, you’re early.’
‘She should be here any time soon.’
‘You can wait here, providing you’re quiet, as I’m trying to finish this report. Sit over there.’ The pathologist pointed at one of the chairs on the other side of her office.
‘Is it on the victim?’
‘No, it’s a funding application for some new equipment we need. It’s like getting blood out of a stone. Anyone would think I was requesting a hot tub for my garden. My job would be so much easier without all this administrative crap.’
‘Funding applications are my speciality, if you want some help?’ George offered.
‘Thanks, but no thanks. It would take too long to explain everything to you. I’ll do it myself, if you’ll just be quiet for a moment.’ She let out a frustrated sigh and ran her fingers through her short red hair until it was sticking out at all angles.
‘I’ll grab a coffee from the machine. Would you like one?’
‘No,’ Claire responded, without even looking up, as her fingers started to run across the keyboard.
George left the office and went into the corridor where the vending machine stood. She wasn’t a fan of the coffee from here, but she hadn’t had time for one earlier. As she was taking her cup, the double doors swung open and Whitney walked in.
‘Get one for me, too, please,’ the officer asked.
Whitney’s addiction to caffeine was legendary. George had learned by experience you should never let her go more than a couple of hours without any, or she became extremely grumpy.
She got another coffee and handed it to her. ‘Here you are.’
‘Thanks. I need this.’ Whitney took a sip and screwed up her face. ‘Not that the coffee here is anything to write home about, but it will have to do. How are you doing?’
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
Whitney stared at her, and George shifted awkwardly on the spot. She didn’t like being scrutinised.
‘Why are you staring at me?’
‘There’s something different about you, and I can’t decide what it is.’
‘That’s ridiculous. I’m exactly the same person you saw the last time we met.’
‘No. There’s definitely something different. I just can’t put my finger on it. It’s as if you’re more relaxed than usual. Yes, that’s it. More relaxed and lighter, somehow.’
‘Nonsense. I’ve barely spoken to you, so you can hardly discern anything. You have a very vivid imagination.’
‘It’s that sort of look you get when you begin something new. Something exciting,’ Whitney persisted. ‘Maybe you have a new boyfriend and haven’t told me.’
A lucky guess. Whitney wasn’t to know George had arranged to go on a date. Not that one planned date counted as a new boyfriend. Although she had to admit, she was looking forward to seeing Ross. He’d phoned within an hour of her leaving the restaurant, and they’d arranged to meet that evening in a pub ten miles away. Midway between Lenchester and Oxford, where he lived. She hadn’t planned on mentioning it to Whitney. Should she?
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said, deciding against telling her friend. There was nothing to tell. And if she did mention it, Whitney would go into detective mode and want to know the ins and outs of a guy she hardly knew anything about, other than he was a waiter and his name was Ross.
‘Okay, have it your way. Come on, let’s go and see Claire.’
‘She was finishing up a report when I went in a few minutes ago. She might be free, now.’
They walked into the morgue. Claire was out of her office and standing by one of the tables. She turned her head as they entered.
‘Over here,’ she called.
When they reached the table, Claire pulled down the overhead light, illuminating the body. She pulled back the sheet covering the young boy.
‘What a waste of life,’ George said, shaking her head.
‘I know,’ Whitney agreed. ‘We have to catch the bastard who did this before they kill anyone else.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Claire said. ‘If it’s the murderer you think it is, catching him won’t be easy. He’s lasted this long without capture.’
‘That doesn’t mean we won’t be the ones to succeed,’ Whitney replied forcibly.
‘You said he. Has it been ascertained the murderer is male?’ George asked.
‘Not that I know of,’ Whitney said.
‘I don’t know for sure, but in most instances, this type of murder is committed by a male. It’s expeditious to say he rather than he/she every time we discuss it,’ Claire said.
‘What have you discovered, so far, Claire?’ George asked.
‘Plenty. First, if you look at the wound, you can see how the blade was held flat, so it slid between the ribs. Your perp is definitely someone who has knowledge of the most efficient way to kill. It gives two opportunities. If it hits the heart, then death is likely to be instantaneous. If the lungs are wounded, they fill with blood. The victim, in effect, drowns in their own blood. In this instance, the knife went straight through the heart.’
Whitney swallowed hard. ‘Fuck. That poor kid.’
‘We can tell from the angle of the entry point the perpetrator was right-handed,’ Claire added.
‘So, the killer would have subdued the boy using the chloroform, and then stabbed him. But to get the exact entry point, would he have had to lift up his sweatshirt?’ Whitney asked.
‘Not necessarily,’ Claire said.
‘Can you tell if that’s what happened in this instance?’
‘Judging by the amount of blood on his clothes, and the tear where the wound entry was, I don’t believe the victim’s clothes were mo
ved.’
‘What about the chloroform? Couldn’t that have killed him?’ George asked.
‘Yes, it certainly could. You’re one step ahead of most people. It’s not like they show in films or on TV, where a chloroform rag is used and it simply anaesthetises the victim. It can be fatal if too much is given, or if a chloroform-soaked cloth is placed too firmly over the face.’
‘In which case, can we assume there was something symbolic in using the knife to kill the victim? Otherwise why not just kill with the chloroform? It would’ve made the murder much easier,’ George said.
‘That’s your area of expertise, not mine,’ Claire said.
‘How long before the murder was the chloroform given?’ Whitney asked.
‘It depends on the dosage. A small amount would make a person tired and dizzy straight away and may cause a headache. A slightly stronger dose could render someone unconscious almost immediately.’
‘And if that was the case, they wouldn’t feel any pain while dying,’ George said.
‘So, what you’re saying is, it’s possible the murderer didn’t want to cause any discomfort to the victim. He just wanted to kill?’ Whitney said.
‘Exactly,’ George said. ‘It indicates it wasn’t anything particular about the victim that caused him to be chosen. It’s the same as the previous murders where the victims weren’t linked. Three cities. Twelve random people.’
‘So why does he do it?’ Whitney asked.
‘It’s the actual killings themselves which are important. The killer could be sending a message.’
‘But what? And to whom?’
‘Obviously, we can’t get into his head, but the fact all murders are committed on trains must be considered. We need to know more about the other murders before we can draw further conclusions.’
‘Agreed,’ Whitney said.
‘Then again, it could just be chloroform was used to prevent the victim from screaming,’ George said.
‘Not necessary. When someone’s been stabbed in the lungs or heart they can’t call out or scream,’ Claire said.
‘And if the killer knew what he was doing, as you mentioned, he’d certainly know that,’ Whitney said.
‘True. Plus, if he carried out the murders in empty carriages, it wouldn’t matter if the victims screamed, because no one would have heard them,’ George said.
‘Do you still believe he was doing it so there was as little suffering as possible?’ Whitney said, looking at George.
‘It’s certainly a possibility.’
‘Any chance you two can continue this discussion elsewhere and leave the rest of us to get on with our work?’ Claire said. ‘I have nothing more to discuss with you until I have the results back from the lab.’
‘Okay, Claire, we get it. You want to be left alone,’ Whitney said.
‘Hu-bloody-ray. Finally, you’re beginning to understand,’ the pathologist replied.
‘Before we go, you haven’t mentioned any trace evidence found,’ Whitney said.
‘There were some fibres around the mouth, which I believe came from the cloth used to sedate him. Other than that, nothing of any significance.’
‘Thanks. Now, we’re leaving,’ Whitney said.
They left the morgue and walked along the corridor.
‘Are we heading back to the incident room, or do we have time to go to the crime scene? I’d really like to see it,’ George said.
‘I thought you might. We’ll go there now.’
After arriving at the railway station, they parked in the car park and made their way towards the building.
‘Did you close the station yesterday?’ George asked.
‘Yes. They were allowed to re-open today. The train where the incident occurred is parked over there in the sidings.’ Whitney pointed across the track. ‘We’d better go inside and let the station manager know we’re here.’
They walked into the station and up to the information desk. Although there were three people waiting in the queue, Whitney went to the front, holding out her warrant card.
‘Please call Mr Hughes and let him know we’d like to speak to him.’
The person on the desk picked up the intercom. ‘Mr Hughes, please come to the information desk. Mr Hughes to the information desk. Thank you.’ The woman replaced the intercom. ‘He shouldn’t be long,’ she said.
They moved to the side so the woman could continue dealing with the customers.
George glanced around the station. Although the red-brick building was old, inside it was modern. She rarely travelled by train these days, preferring to drive most places. She enjoyed driving; it was her stress release.
‘DCI Walker,’ a voice called.
George turned in the direction of the voice and saw an older man in a grey suit with a white shirt and red tie. His hair was cut short and thinning on top.
‘Good morning, Mr Hughes,’ Whitney said. ‘This is Dr Cavendish; she’s working with us on the case.’ George nodded in his direction. ‘We’d like to go onto the train. Is it locked?’
‘It is. I’ll let you on board. How’s the investigation going? It hasn’t been on the news yet, although I’ve had the press calling for information about the incident. As instructed, we haven’t said anything. They didn’t appear to know there had been a murder.’
‘We’re going to inform them later today. Thank you for keeping it quiet.’
They walked out of the building and turned left along one of the platforms, until reaching some stairs, which took them over the bridge to where the train was situated.
Mr Hughes unlocked the front carriage.
‘We’ll take it from here,’ Whitney said.
‘Do you need me to wait for you?’ he asked.
‘No, but we might have some questions after we’ve finished.’
Once he’d left, Whitney pulled down the handle and opened the door. They stepped into the carriage.
‘This train’s got to be way over thirty years old,’ George said as she observed the worn seat coverings and the marks on the wall.
‘I suspect the choice of an older train is deliberate.’
‘It makes sense, as it’s likely there’s no CCTV in here, making it a lot harder for the perpetrator to be caught.’
‘We need information about the other murders to see if it’s true of those as well. The murder took place in the last carriage,’ Whitney said.
As they walked through the train, each carriage was much the same as the first. Worn and old.
‘I read somewhere the UK has the oldest trains in Europe. They really should update them. Though I suppose it’s a cash problem,’ George said.
‘It shouldn’t be, given the price of train tickets.’
When they got to the last carriage, there were signs of forensics having been there.
‘Did SOCO turn up anything?’ George asked.
‘Not that we know of, yet. Obviously, there were hundreds of fingerprints, but I doubt any belonged to the murderer, as he would’ve worn gloves. How else could he have evaded capture for so long?’
‘How many passengers were travelling in the carriage?’ she asked.
‘According to the conductor, it was a quiet day, particularly Banbury to Lenchester, the last leg. He noticed that, apart from the victim, only three other people were in here, and they got out before the victim got on. Not that it would’ve stopped anyone from coming into the carriage once he’d done his rounds.’
‘As it was quiet, you’d have thought someone would have noticed a person strolling through the train and coming into here,’ George said. ‘Especially as they would have left through the door they used to come in.’
‘Exactly,’ Whitney said.
‘Hang on, I want to check something.’
George went back to the previous carriage to check whether she could see anything, but thanks to the connecting doors, it was impossible to get a good look. She returned to Whitney, who was staring at the seat where the boy was found.
&
nbsp; ‘What were you looking for?’ Whitney asked.
‘I wanted to see if the murderer could’ve seen the boy from the next carriage. He couldn’t.’
‘But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t in there,’ Whitney said.
‘True. And it would be the perfect place to lay in wait.’
‘So, at the moment, we believe the murderer was probably sitting in the next carriage and then made his move, after checking out who was in here,’ Whitney said.
‘On which platform did the train come in?’ George asked.
‘Platform one.’
‘Let’s take a look and see if there’s anything that might help us,’ she suggested.
They walked back through the train and made their way over the bridge until they got to platform one.
George walked to the end of the platform, assuming that was where the last carriage would have ended up. ‘Anyone on the platform could have seen the boy through the window, as he was on this side of the train.’
‘Except no one would be this far down. Once people got off the train they would have turned right for the exit,’ Whitney said.
‘We need to check on what days the other murders were carried out. Presumably they wouldn’t all be on a Sunday afternoon, as that would make it much easier for the police to catch the killer.’
‘We’ll also look at the passenger lists and compare them. I’m assuming the murderer would’ve staked out the line before deciding which route to go for. We need to get back to the incident room and see what the team have discovered. I haven’t heard from Jamieson with the time of the press conference.’
After informing Mr Hughes they were leaving, they left the station.
‘Are you spending the rest of the day with us, or do you have to get back to work?’ Whitney asked.
‘I’ve got a couple of hours, but then I must get back. Let’s go. We’ve a lot to do, and judging by the timeline of the other killings, not long to do it.’
Chapter Seven
Monday, 10 June
Whitney pulled out a hand-mirror from her bag and quickly smeared on some lipstick. After running her fingers through her dark curly hair, which she’d worn loose that day, she slipped on her jacket. She was running late, and Jamieson would go off on one if she missed the start of the press conference. She picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and hurried out of her office through the incident room. She glanced at those members of her team who were there and not out in the field.
